


See Where it Goes

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [33]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rank Disparity, Romance, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 21:19:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18902857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Hamilton’s friends have questions.





	See Where it Goes

When Hamilton makes his way to the bridge for his normal shift, he’s furious to discover Washington has left the Nelson.

The 'delicate situation' that so rudely interrupted their morning apparently requires the general's presence down on the planet. Hamilton reads the full report in silence, barely containing his frustration.

He has no rational reason to be angry. A commanding officer is under no obligation to inform an off-duty subordinate upon leaving the ship. Hell, Washington may have _wanted_ to tell Hamilton of his departure and been unable to, for fear of rousing too much attention.

The mission planet-side is, at the very least, not dangerous. There are tensions among the populous—hence the need for delicacy and the general's sobering presence—but the real difficulty lies in some sort of anomalous temporal phenomenon. Local scientists have failed to untangle the puzzle, and so the Nelson's away team is primarily comprised of a fresh set of eyes to take on the problem. Engineers, scientists, technicians. Even Aaron Burr who—though chief of security and not attached to any of the ship's scientific teams—has become an impromptu expert on temporal mechanics following a mission so classified Hamilton does not know the details.

Reasonable then, for Washington to join his people on the planet’s surface and offer what aid and support he can. Equally reasonable for him to leave his communications chief behind, and trust to the usual protocols to keep Hamilton apprised.

When Hamilton joins his friends for dinner in the officers mess hours later, his initial irritation has faded. 

He still wishes like hell Washington were _here_ , but it's impossible to maintain a negative attitude in the face of ground newly won. He still can't quite believe it happened. His stubborn general, so long entrenched in refusing to acknowledge the connection between them, cannot possibly have ceded the field so suddenly.

And yet there was something almost inevitable in the moment. They've been so long traversing this path together. They have driven each other mad in endless ways, both careless and deliberate. Why _shouldn't_ they finally—belatedly—understand one another perfectly?

Only Lafayette and Hercules are there when Hamilton sits down, though Laurens joins them soon after. They linger through the evening, every subject of conversation superficial and easy. Humorous. Simple. Hamilton nearly pushes Laurens out of his chair for conjuring up an especially embarrassing escapade from their Academy days, but even this doesn’t truly bother him.

"No one ever proved that was me," Hamilton points out.

"Of course not." Laurens rights himself in his chair with exaggerated gravitas. "It could have been some other newbie cadet that Kitty Livingston stranded naked in the shrubbery of the central quad."

Hamilton is laughing when he realizes John is watching him strangely. Smiling, yes, but there’s something more curious than amused in the expression.

"What?" Hamilton asks.

"Nothing, you just…" Laurens shrugs. "You're more cheerful than I've seen you in ages. Did you finally finish that massive treatise? Should we be drinking to celebrate?"

There’s a barely discernible instant in which Hamilton feels even more naked than he did that day on the quad with Kitty Livingston. As though he has somehow given the game away. As though his friends can see directly through him—which perhaps they can—reducing him to his component parts and sussing out _exactly_ what has changed.

Never mind the likely fact that John's question is pure pretext: Hamilton won’t confess aloud the true reason for his good mood.

"Not finished," he answers truthfully, then continues onward with a blatant lie. "I made a breakthrough though. Two unrelated streams of research by competing scientists, except together they _actually_ demonstrate a consistent fluctuation in—"

"Non," Lafayette interrupts imperiously, just in time to save Hamilton from himself. "No details, please. You know we will never comprehend them."

"Come on, Laf, we could try," Laurens argues, but his amused expression proclaims exactly the opposite. Hamilton shrugs and continues eating his dinner.

It's not until Laurens and Lafayette have departed—and the rest of the officers from the tables around them for that matter—that Hercules gives him a more measuring look. The two of them are alone in the mess hall, but Hamilton still glances nervously around when his friend speaks candidly.

"We're not stupid. You're mood's got fuck-all to do with some financial treatise."

There's no point maintaining the pretense. "So what if it doesn't?"

Hercules rolls his eyes at the unnecessary confrontation in the retort. "So if you finally managed a successful seduction, I want details. Who made the first move? Where do you go from here?"

"I didn't seduce him. We only talked." And kissed at length. And _definitely_ would’ve fucked if the bridge hadn't interrupted them. All in the inviting intimacy of Washington's bed, where Hamilton has been sleeping for weeks. 

Despite the confidence in Herc's tone, Hamilton is not in fact obligated to fill him in.

"But he must have finally come around," Hercules presses. "You wouldn't be so damn happy otherwise."

"Why do you care so much?" Hamilton asks, half teasing, half defensive.

"Because it's _good_ to see you happy, asshole. That's how friendship works. So stop being a brat and give me the gossip."

Hamilton considers—he sincerely does—but in the end it's too personal. Too nebulous and new. So he shakes his head, softening his refusal with a smile. "Sorry, Herc. Not this time. My understanding with the general is private."

"Fine. Then _you_ don't get to hear about the time I hooked up with three Deltans at once."

" _Bullshit_." Hamilton laughs, incredulous. He only laughs harder as Hercules expounds on the ridiculous claim, a blatant lie that grows less and less plausible the longer his narrative unfolds. By the end Hercules is not even pretending at a believable story, and Hamilton's sides hurt.

When Hamilton returns to Washington's quarters just in time to hear that the away team—and thus the general—will _not_ be returning to the Nelson for two more days, he sets aside his vexation. Impatience will get him nowhere.

Two days is a finite span, and when it passes, Washington will return. Then they can continue their interrupted conversation.

Hamilton needs only wait. He has managed this long. A little longer won't hurt him.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Initial, Trench, Reduction


End file.
